


Give Me A Minute (To Get Used To You Again)

by Treon



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's coming back</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me A Minute (To Get Used To You Again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [china_shop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/gifts).



> Written for china_shop's prompt "Arrival Gate". The fic is based on the song "Again", partial translated lyrics [here](http://www.hebrewsongs.com/?song=shuv)

Peter stood with El and baby Neal in the international arrivals area at JFK, waiting for Neal to arrive.  
  
They had bought a colorful 'welcome home' balloon when they came in, but a fussy baby and fidgety parents and yada, yada, yada, the balloon was now looking for _its_ friends somewhere high above them.  
  
Peter pressed a sweaty palm against his jeans.  He had debated whether to wear a suit, something more respectable, but El had convinced him to go for a more laid-back and relaxed approach.  Not that he felt laid-back or relaxed at all.  
  
A whole year had passed since he'd last seen Neal.  A year of despair.  A whole year in which he hadn't dared to hope for this moment.  And now it was here.  Neal's plane had already landed, and any minute now, he'd step through those doors.  
  
It was all going too fast, and yet not fast enough.  
  
The past few days were filled with what-ifs.  Was Neal really coming back?  Would he stay?  What if he had gone back to the criminal life?  El had finally said they would take it a day at a time.  Today, they were going to pick him up at the airport.  Tomorrow, they'll deal with tomorrow.  
  
As people started streaming out into the arrivals hall in a babble of English and French, El squeezed Peter's hand.  He looked over at her, and she mouthed 'breath!'.  
  
Would Neal look any different?  Would he recognize him?  It had only been a year, but it had seemed like ages have passed since the last time he saw the young man, deathly still in the morgue.  
  
Peter shook the thought away, and tried to focus on breathing.  
  
And then Neal was there, a shock of black hair and a shy, uncertain smile on his face.  And Peter knew he had nothing to worry about.


End file.
